Dear Diary
by linked-pinkies
Summary: Brittany Pierce loves to write in her diary. If she's having a good day, bad day, whatever the circumstance she can always count on her diary to be there for her. Until one day when it's left behind and new-to-the-neighbourhood Santana Lopez finds it.


**Author's Note: So, a couple weeks ago I came up with this new idea for a story and thought I'd take a shot at putting the pen to paper to make it happen. Here is the result! **

_Santana's POV_

**September 29, 2010**

Once again, here I was, holding my cardboard box of personal items while the rest were stored away in a line up of trucks that were tailing our leather interior, pine smelling, slick bright red mustang convertible over seemingly endless highways. "Another day, another place" should have been the Lopez family motto.

My papi, the one and only Sergio Lopez, was president and founder of the famous chain restaurant: The Spicy Mexican. With such a great honour (his words, not mine) came great responsibility, one which apparently overpowered the responsibility he had over the well-being of his family. He had to move around with the restaurant. Wherever and whenever there was a new restaurant being planted, my dad insisted on us moving there. He could have easily instructed one of his many managers and employees to oversee the new project but his pride got in the way. He demanded he be the one to oversee the entire process, making sure no one made a mistake while installing one of his precious restaurants.

So, why didn't my dad do like most businessmen who had families, commute from work to home on the weekends. You know, that way his family has stability...friends...normalcy... Big shot, Mr. Lopez just couldn't have it that way though. We, as a family, had to be a travelling circus, moving wherever the new restaurant would be the best for business. "We are a family and we will stay united as one," my father would always say, his head high with what I was sure he wanted to convey as pride, in my eyes, it was completely ignorance and selfishness that he was displaying.

Moving away every couple months was obviously a great thing for a teenager in high school (that was sarcasm if you didn't catch it). Most people thought high school was hell, and that was when they were at the same one their entire four years. Try being in a different one at least twice a term. Not only did you change locations, you change teachers and teaching styles, friends, enemies, frienemies, etc. Most of that stuff I could handle. The only hard part was the friends.

Everyone's hope in high school is to be popular and have a smooth ride through it. They would try their hardest to achieve that one goal. Teenagers would strive for popularity and stability with such determination they could probably cure cancer. They would buy the newest trends, listen to the right music, speak the current lingo and aim to be a perfect reflection of the King and Queen of the school.

Now imagine trying to do that when all the variables changed throughout the schools. Every place had a different portrayal of perfection, a new King and Queen in every town. It was exhausting trying to keep up with it all.

I learned a few tricks here and there over the years though. The key to getting s safe spot in high school was to blend, but blend in a specific way. Blend in with a group of superiority which had no choice but to be loyal to you: cheerleading (or whatever the popular club may be at the school, but it was mostly cheerleading.) I had found that most of the time if you got into the cheerleading squad you had a much better chance of popularity and stability than if you were blending with the nobodies.

Although, that plan could always backfire. Sometimes the new girl who makes the cheerleading squad becomes the new 'whipping boy'. The head cheerleader will chew you up so badly that they're still picking pieces of you out of their teeth a month later. It was a fifty-fifty chance but I always took it. As long as you blended with the cheerleaders and didn't try to outshine anyone, you were fine. Sometimes that took a lot more restraint than you'd think though...

Let's just say a couple times I spoke up a little too loudly and swayed my hips a little too provocatively and got on some people's bad sides. It wasn't my fault they were such babies. It wasn't my fault I was born to be hot**. **

Maybe it was a good thing I moved around so much. Let's just say, it's saved my butt a few times now.

But still, I couldn't shake the feeling of sadness as I sat in the back of my father luxurious car. Sometimes it just would have been nice to settle down, find some friends, keep those friends and be able to call a place home. I had a feeling that wish would only continue to be a wish until I was moved out on my own. Until then, 'The Spicy Mexican' was my home.

Even though I knew the reality of my situation, the cons and the pros, I would still make it hell for my parents. I didn't deserve this and they sure as hell were going to hear about it. So, I made sure they did every second of our three hour drive.

"Calm down, mi chiquitín, you might like it there. Give it a try." My mamita soothed me every time I tried to complain. My papi would only scrunch up his face and twitch his moustache, sure signs that he was holding back his lectures on ungrateful attitudes, respect for parents and so on.

"Who cares if I might like it? We'll just leave in two months anyways!" Would be my quick rebuttal which would shut them both up. None of them even bothered to try and argue on the matter. They knew it was true too and they weren't going to lie for my sake.

After the three hour long drive, we drove past a large wooden sign declaring us to be Lima, Ohio. I groaned inwardly as I saw the city population written on the sign. The whooping number of 50,000 people living in Lima. Great, we'll stick out like a sour thumb here. There was no way I could fly under the radar to scope out the situation. Everyone was going to notice me the moment I walked into school. I hated small towns.

"It's a really nice place, Santana. Your papi says the school has one of the best cheerleading teams in the country." My mamita quickly turned around to share as if she had sensed my disgust in the population. "Plus, it'll be a nice change living close to your Abdulla." She added.

That fact did calm me a little. When I was younger I practically glued at my Abdulla. She had decided to live with us because my dad was so busy working. She said she would help my mama around the house. I would run to her after school and hang out with her for as long as I could before my mama would be practically dragging me to bed for the night. We would cook together, read stories, make crafts, all the kind of things an awesome grandmother would do. She was the best. When I got into high school she decided to move away though. She said that the moving around was becoming too exhausting for her. She wanted to settle down in a quiet place.

Lima sure did look small and quiet... I guess she found what she needed.

As we drove through the city streets it was almost as if the streets had been closed down. We'd pass a couple cars, and then there was a break, then a few other cars, then nothing. It was making me feel more and more unenthusiastic to be here. At least there weren't cows or anything strolling around. If there were, I would have jumped out of my car and ran as far as these Latina legs could take me. Santana Lopez was not a hick town kind of person.

I was pleasantly surprised when we looked into a court which was entitled Lima Heights Adjacent. The street was filled with modern mansion-like houses of all shapes and sizes. They weren't huge and awing. You didn't stop in the middle of the street and wonder if the Queen of England was living there, but they were not obviously not cheap. And most importantly, they actually looked like a home.

My father pulled his car into a round-about driveway and came to a creeping stop directly in front of the house's towering double door.

"What's all that?" My mamita asked my papi in a displeased voice as if she had overlooked the entire house and found the only bad thing on the lot. I looked up to where she was pointing to, getting a little false hope that she might not like the place and we'd be able to move back to where we came from, but I knew that wasn't going to happen.

My eyes fell upon something I was very surprised I had overlooked. There was a large dumpster full of broken floor boards, carpets, insulation, and trash. It was overflowing onto the perfectly groomed grass of this mansions lawn. I inwardly smirked because I knew my mami was probably panicking, thinking the neighbours would think she was some kind of slob.

I smirked noticing a pattern of that covered a lot of the trash. Ducks on carpets, ducks on ripped wallpaper, ducks on large light fixture. Someone liked ducks.

"The construction workers are going to come pick it up tomorrow. Their work was delayed so they were only able to finish the construction before we arrived, but they assured me the cleanup crew would be here bright and early tomorrow morning." My papi replied smoothly before exiting the car. "Everyone has their house repaired and designed before moving in, Maria. The neighbours won't think otherwise."

For the next hour it was nonstop. People were moving in and out of the house, hoisting furniture through the large mahogany entryway, piling boxes on dollies, yelling out instructions and wiping disgusting amounts of sweat off their body. Well, all except me. This routine had gotten old after about the first time we had done it. I was not going to put up with having to move homes _and_ having to move our belongings. My papi paid these overpaid monkeys a lot to do it so I wasn't going to lend them a hand, or even a pinky.

I popped myself down on the unnaturally, perfectly manicured green lawn, put the music on my iPod as loud as it possibly could and closed my eyes. Maybe I could get a nice tan out of this crappy situation. The sun was nice and it left a warm tingly feeling over my body, lulling me into a deep sleep. After a long car ride, my body was more than willing to stretch out and give into sleep.

What seemed like minutes later, my foot was being tapped against in an annoying pattern of beats. _Bang bang. Bang bang bang. Bang bang. Bang bang bang_. The movement wracked through my body and I rolled over with a loud groan. What the hell?

My eyes squinted open and by the look of the sky I could tell it had definitely been more than a couple minutes I had slept. It had gone from being a bright, scorching sunlight to a dull but still warm sunlight. It looked around dinner time. After my eyes became bearably adjusted to the new light, they slowly swept over the dark shadow beside. My eyes followed the long shadow up to the person creating it.

I scowled fiercely at a man in a moving uniform who stood a foot away from me. Who the hell is he to wake me up? "What?" I snapped at him.

This took him aback. He quickly went from a middle aged, blue collared working man to a ten year old boy being yelled at disapprovingly by his grade school teacher.

"Uh," he started, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Your father wanted to me to let you know that there is pizza in the kitchen if you're hungry." He explained sounding extremely apologetic.

I grunted, flopping back onto the ground in frustration. That had been a good sleep, why'd he have to wake me back up into this nightmare? "Kay, thanks." I mumbled in reply, knowing if word came back to my father that I had been rude he'd be pissed. 'Respect is what is expected in this family' he _always_ liked to remind me.

I grudgingly got up from my comfortable spot on the grass and stumbled my way towards the house, squinting my eyes from the fresh pain burning against them from the sudden full exposure to the sun. They wanted to be closed just as much as I wanted them to be. But my stomach was rumbling reminding me I needed food. I hadn't eaten all day and even if that was normal for me the pizza was calling me to it. Pizza and pasta were my weakness. I wondered if I was an Italian in a past life.

As I struggled to keep my balance on the soft grass my foot came into a contact with a hard surface and I yelped, which was followed by a long stream of curses.

"Are you okay?" I heard the construction guy from earlier call, hurrying over.

I quickly waved my hand dismissively at him, brushing him off. My attention was on the cause of the shooting pain going through my bare toe. My eyes tried to focus. I noticed a piece of a wodden black a foot away from me now, but there was something else. It must have been uncpverdd when I kicked the wood. The blurry lines began to fade and I recognized it as a book. It was a leather bonded, medium sized book.

I reached down, picking it up. My hand ran over it, dusting off the saw dust which had covered it. After cleaning it, the sun glinted off a bunch of swirls of silver. There was a hand written title elegantly scrolled upon the expensive material front. Diary, it said.

My first response was panic that my diary had been dropped on the ground outside and anyone could have read it, but the initial panic quickly dissipated when I remembered I didn't have a diary anymore. I wasn't going to trust a book that anyone could easily search for and then find out every secret I had. Once I had entered high school, my diary was gone, ripped up and burned to ashes. I wasn't taking any chances. So whose was this?

"It must have fallen out of the dumpster. I'll get rid of it for you." The _overly_ helpful mover said, reaching out his hand towards me.

I paused for a moment, looking at it. I flipped quickly through a couple pages seeing it jam packed full of words and small doodles. "I'll take care of it. Thanks." I mumbled sourly, pushing past his outstretched arm, heading for the house. He was pushing a few too many buttons for a half asleep Santana Lopez.

I glanced down at the book in my hand and gave myself a half shrug. Hey, I had nothing better to do. Why not read it? Whoever the previous owner of it was is clearly long gone by now. I might as well make good use of it. Recycling is good, right?

Or being nosy is fun, whatever excuse works.

I headed to the kitchen, quickly snatched a piece of pizza before anyone would suggest I help, and then headed straight back to my previous spot on the grass.

"Story time with Snix," I smirked, flipping the diary open to a random page.

_February 23, 2010_

_Dear Diary, _

_I know you're probably really mad at me right now, so I'll start this off by saying how sorry I am and by offering up an explanation. I am well aware that you enjoyed having a lovely tanning spot under the light of my lamp on my bed side table, but I had to move you. I thought I was just becoming paranoid when I found you lying open on my bed. I thought maybe I had left you open the last time I had written you. I let it slide. But then I found you lying open again and I knew that something was off. My suspicions were right: Lord Tubbington was reading my diary. I knew it. I cornered him this morning and he refused to admit he had done it. I don't know if he's telling the truth or not. He's getting so good at lying. I guess the art of lying comes with good practice and he's got a lot of it being a closeted chain smoker. Whenever I tell him to stop he just says he already has but I know that's not true. He always smells like cigarettes. But anyways, that's why I am taking these extra precautions. From now on, I'm going to keep you under a section of the floorboards. I know. I know. It's cold and scary under there, but I promise to take you out all the time so you won't get lonely. Maybe I'll pick you up a rubber ducky to keep down there with you. That way you'll never feel alone. Does that sound like a good idea? Let me know! _

_Brittany S. Pierce xoxo_

_P.S. It's probably for the best, Sue told one of the other Cheerios today if you spend too much time in the light you'll shrivel up like a raisin, get skin cancer and die... She's scary sometimes..._

I was kind of shocked when I finished reading and noticed I had a wide grin on my face. Whoever this Brittany girl was sure had an active imagination. A diary who loves to tan? An imaginary friend - I'm guessing – who is a closeted chain smoker? She was taking this talking to a diary as if it was a real person a little too seriously. I wondered how old she was if she did all this but also knew all those words. Her handwriting was kind of messy so she must have been kind of younger. Plus, she still spelt her name with her middle initial. I stopped doing that a very long time ago. I remembered when I was like five any time people would ask me my name I would reply, "Santana M. Lopez." She must have been a smart kid to know how to spell those words though. It had to be a pre-teen or teenager, didn't it? Or a really smart kid.

I was kind of surprised when I read over the date of the diary entry. It was less than a year ago. This wasn't an old diary. By the look of how many more entries there were she must have still been using it when she left it behind.

I felt bad, but my curiosity and boredom still got the better of me. I flipped to the next page.

_Brittany's POV_

**September 20, 2010**

The sun shone through large bay window into my room, eliciting the view of dust floating through the air. The dust danced gracefully across my room as if dancing to a melancholy melody. My lips tilted downwards tightly as I tried to push down the feeling of sadness which was fighting to overwhelm me. This had been my home my whole life. This room held all my greatest memories and now it was being ripped away from me. This was the room which I had fallen asleep in every single day of my life. This was the room in which I fought away the monsters that had terrified Lord Tubbington's dreams when he was only a little kitten. This was the room where my mom had sung me to sleep with lullabies that would forever bunch off its walls. This was the place where my dad built me my wardrobe and taught me how to hammer a nail into wood without hitting my thumb. This was my home. How could they just force me to leave?

My dad had left us two year ago and since then my mom had been struggling to keep paying the payments on all our bills. She said they built up so high that there wasn't any possible way she could pay for them without selling the house. We had to leave. She promised the new one would still be nice. It just wouldn't be so big. I really didn't mind losing the size of the house. I just minded that I would be losing the place I had called home my whole life. The one and only place I had lived while my family was still whole. I doubted anywhere else would ever feel like home.

"Brittany! The truck is packed up. We have to head out, honey!" My mom called up the stairs. I could hear the thousands of apologies which laced her voice so I didn't fight. I knew she had wanted to stay here just as much as I wanted.

I forced my feet to walk down the stairs for the last time and met my mom and little sister in the hallway. My mom offered both me and my sister a hand with a sad smile and watery smile. "Ready for a new adventure?" She asked us in what I'm sure she tried to make an excited voice.

Katie looked up at me with wide hopeful eyes, which a ten year old obviously would have in this kind of situation, making sure it was okay with me.

"Definitely," I grinned for her sake, accepting my mom's hand as Katie did the same. We walked out of the place we called home together as a new, slightly smaller family then when we had entered it. I hoped that wherever we went next would be as amazing as this was had been. It was a bittersweet moment.

**September 22, 2010**

"Mom!" I yelled. I could practically feel the walls of our new house shake at the volume of my voice. My panic and fear pounding off them so hard it was if my voice began to embody a pair of fists and started punching the wall.

My mom ran to the bottom of the stairs with wide, worried eyes. "What's wrong?"

"My diary! I forget it!" I gasped as I tried to control my breathing. _Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out._ It wasn't working. My mom ran up the stairs and rubbed my back smoothly, trying to help me out of my panic attack.

"Are you sure it's not still packed in one of the boxes? We still have a bunch to unpack, sweetheart." She questioned me quietly, brushing my bangs out of my eyes.

"No. It would have been in the boxes for my room and I've looked through them all. I don't even remember packing it!" I practically shrieked hysterically. _Breathe, Brittany!_ My head was too jammed packed with panic at the thought of losing my diary permanently. I had written everything in that book. It was my best friend in all those times I had no one. It was where I had jotted down all the silly stories me, Lord Tubbington and Katie made up. It helped me solve all the problems I had been fighting through, or at least it helped me cope with them when I tried to figure them out. It meant everything to me.

"Shh," she hushed me. "We'll head over there right now and get it, alright?"

I nodded quickly, bobbing my head up and down so fast I felt nauseous.

We had driven as fast as my mom would allow as we hurried to our old house, but when we got there terror fell over me like a bucket of ice water from the thought of it being too late. We pulled up into the gated community and we could see construction workers streaming in and out of the house. My eyes grew to an abnormal size as I watched what they were doing. They were pulling everything apart. I saw construction workers with armloads of floorboard. Floorboards from my room.

"Mom!"

"Come on. We'll ask." She replied calmly, but I could see the doubtful look hidden in her eyes.

We exited our car, probably looking like distraught psychos, and my mom walked straight to the man who seemed to be in charge.

"Excuse me, sir. We're the family who just moved out of here a couple days and my daughter seems to have forgotten something..." She trailed off when the man in the hard hat began to shake his head with an apologetic frown.

"We've cleaned everything out of the house, ma'am. Whatever she left would have already been drove to the dump or is in that big dumpster over there, but it's not safe to go looking through there. It's full of scrap metal and nails. I'm sorry."

My head dropped as all hope left my body and was replaced by the weight of regret and misery. That had been the diary my dad had given me before he left and now it was gone forever...just like him.

**Author's Note: What'd you think? Like it? Let me know!**


End file.
